


I Thought the Promises We'd Made Would Have A Different End

by BroadwayBaggins



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6419308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroadwayBaggins/pseuds/BroadwayBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the prompt: Mary decides that it's time to leave black behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Thought the Promises We'd Made Would Have A Different End

**Author's Note:**

> So, I considered putting this in my "Storms of War" story, but that story is further along in the timeline than this little drabble, so I thought it was best to put it on its own, to save others the confusion! This is part of the "Storms of War" verse, but can be read independently and takes place before episode 4. I've basically created my own backstory for Mary here, so forgive any historical error! Title comes from the song "The Fire Within Me" from Little Women: The Musical which I highly recommend to any Mercy Street fans or Louisa May Alcott fans or people who just enjoy Broadway musicals.

Mary had always hated black.

She had been coming out of mourning when she’d met Gustav, for an aunt who had recently passed, and when he had seen her for the first time in a gown of spring green instead of the black and purple she had worn during their first few months of acquaintance, Mary had sworn to herself that she would never wear black again. A foolish promise, particularly for one who had known so much sorrow in her life–first a sister who had hardly lived past infancy, then her parents, and on and on until Mary Phinney felt as if she had spent more of her life in mourning than out of it. Meeting and courting Gustav had been like coming up for fresh air in a sea of loss, and she had been so happy for a time that it had been easy to make promises that, even in her heart, she knew she could not keep.

She did not mourn the loss of her child publicly–only she and Gustav had known about the pregnancy before she had lost it, and her miscarriage was not something that she was keen to advertise. She showcased her grief only in a black velvet ribbon she took to wearing around her neck, one that was now tucked inside her carpetbag here at Mansion House. From time to time, she took it out, running her fingers over the velvet, worn and frayed in some places, and imagined what her child would have looked like had he survived, but she never allowed herself to dwell on this loss for too long.

But with Gustav’s death, there were expectations that Mary was expected to meet and uphold, and once again she found herself donning black crepe. In her sorrow, she made a new promise–that she would mourn Gustav all of her days, that she would forever wear black, that the husband she had lost would stay with her always in this way. A silly promise, perhaps, made in a haze of grief, but until Mary had gone to Virginia it had been one she was determined to keep. Every once in a while she would consider her wardrobe, fingering gowns of lavender or navy or fawn or green, Gustav’s favorite on her, and for a moment she swore she could hear her husband’s voice at her ear, begging her to set aside the black and move on. Mary never listened. Something always stopped her, and she would reach for the familiar and shut the wardrobe up again, leaving the bright colors for another day. Her widow’s weeds had become an armor of sorts, and as the war broke out and grew worse and more and more women joined her–some daysit seemed everyone in Boston was mourning someone, a brother or father or uncle or fiancee or cousin–Mary found a certain solidarity with these fellow mourning women. 

But as reports of the war grew worse and worse, and the wounded flooded the makeshift hospitals, Mary had made the decision that had changed her life. Unable to sit idle any longer while men fighting for a righteous cause languished and died in understaffed hospitals far from home, she journeyed to meet with Miss Dix to offer her services as a nurse. Although Miss Dix had professed her approval of Mary’s somber, modest way of dress, before she had sent her off to Alexandria she had suggested softly to Mary that, perhaps, her black crepe be left behind.

Mary had understood her reasoning immediately. What comfort would she be to a wounded and dying boy while dressed as if she were already attending his funeral? No, a hospital was no place for a nurse in mourning, and Mary replenished her wardrobe accordingly. She kept her new gowns dark and somber, for the most part–dark blues, brown plaids, touches of black lace at collar and cuffs, not enough to raise any suspicions but enough for Mary to feel as if she was not betraying Gustav’s memory completely. Armed with her new clothes, the new armor she would don at Mansion House hospital in Alexandria, Mary had set off.

But something had happened the longer she spent in Mansion House, the more comfortable she became with her new role and the chaos of the hospital. The dresses trimmed in black were set aside for others of plaid or blue or dove. She introduced white to her wardrobe for the first time since Gustav’s passing, smiling once as she caught sight of the white lace around her collar where black once sat. And as word spread through the hospital of a ball that was to soon be held, she found herself eyeing a gown of light blue silk, one of two formal gowns she had brought with her (she had been content with one, but the uncertainty of finding fabric in Alexandria had spurred her to add another), that she had not worn in years. Perhaps…

But no, the ball was not to be held for another week, and so Mary reached for an old favorite instead. The spring green dress that Gustav had loved so much was no longer, but this fabric was as close as Mary could find, and she found that putting on the dress felt much like greeting an old friend.

“That color suits you,” Doctor Foster said later as their eyes met over a patient, and Mary smiled.


End file.
